


How Do You Despair?

by UberDuper



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Dangan Ronpa Spoilers, Gen, General Despair Stuff, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of self-harm, Murder, Super Dangan Ronpa 2 Spoilers, the Whole Nine Yards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2089083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UberDuper/pseuds/UberDuper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course they had backgrounds, things they did and said and saw that affected who they are today. But none of that matters anymore. All that matters is their leader and their ideal. What more is there to say about pawns?</p><p>( A series of short ficlets based on the despairing SDR2 kids )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smoke Stained Windows

**Author's Note:**

> Eyup. This is just me writing a bunch of quick, despair stories for the SDR2 cast because I love all of them so very much. I'll be using prompts from WriteWorld on Tumblr (writeworld.tumblr.com if you wanna check it out). All of the prompts will be italicized and usually at the start or end of the chapter.
> 
> General spoilers for SDR2 and maybe DR in a few of them? Also, even though there are tags in the uh... tags section, I'll restate the specific tags for the chapters they're in, just in case. That being said, let's just get on with it.
> 
> For the first chapter, we have Izuru Kamukura. No real extra tags here, aside from the obvious spoilers.

" _Aren't you even a little curious?_ " Her words reached his ears, and yet they rung hollow. What would he have to be curious about?

"No." A simple response to a simple question.

"You're such a bore, Kamukura-kun!" The girl cried out, crossing her legs at the ankle and leaning back overdramatically in her seat, one hand coming up to rest on her forehead.

"With all due respect, Ms. Junko, I don't find the prospect of potentially risking my life for a cause that will be cut off at the knees should your plan go through very interesting, fun, or 'super cool'. In fact, it seems like a waste of a perfectly good army of insane children. So no. I'm not curious about it." Kamukura crossed his arms, turning to glace out of the window. Smoke from a burning building below floated up, dusting the glass. He could hear screams and laughter, although both had died down to almost nothing within the past few weeks.

"But that's the best part!" Enoshima cried out, throwing her arms in the air excitedly. "It's such a  _huge_  gamble! Just think!" She practically threw her chair next to Kamukura's, slinging an arm over his shoulder and smushing her chest up against his bicep. He glanced at her, unamused, but let her talk anyway.

"Think about it! The most powerful army in the world, made of some of the most skilled people in existence! The Alexander the Greats! The Michelangelos! The Julius Caesars! The Hideki Tojos! Now imagine that army crumbling because of fourteen idiots trapped in a school! Imagine how difficult it would be to rebuild! I know how bored you get! Think of it as the ultimate strategy game!" Enoshima continued to rant about how her plan could go wrong. Kamukura took it in silently.

"I don't play games." He stated bluntly. And yet... she knew how to appeal to him. The logistics, the strategy, the psychology that would be involved in rebuilding a mighty army from a scant few survivors and keeping an ideal alive. How, perhaps, he would be able to finally feel something other than bored. "But..."

"I knew you'd see it my way!" Enoshima affectionately nuzzled Kamukura, who stared at her blankly. They turned as the door opened, Enoshima's sister Ikusaba striding in, bloodstained and dirty. She had a shotgun in her hands, the barrel smoking. "Ah, Mukuro."

"Junko." The soldier responded casually. "Kamukura." She gestured at the boy, who nodded back. "Junko, everything is set up. However, we need to get back now before somebody notices we're gone." Ikusaba pumped the shotgun and motioned toward the door.

"Oh fine." Enoshima stood up and pouted. "Bye bye, Kamukura! We'll go over the details of the plan tomorrow." She shot him a preppy wave and turned to Ikusaba. "Okay, Mukuro-chan. We're going through with the plan! So here's what still needs to be done..."

Kamukura sighed and stared out of the smoke stained window as Junko Enoshima's voice faded out.


	2. How Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter for Mahiru Koizumi. Warning for mentions of suicide and self-harm here.

Mahiru Koizumi sighed as  _she drew herself a bath and planned to drown in her despair_. It would be so easy. Crank the heat to the max and let the water scald her. Just lie face down and let the liquid flow into her lungs. Balance the nearby hair curler precariously on the edge of the tub and 'accidentally' knock it in. If only it would be so easy. She stuck her fingers under the faucet, feeling the water burn her skin. But not enough. It didn't sear her skin off. With a sigh, the photographer stripped off her clothes, haphazardly throwing them to the side, and lowered herself into the scorching water. She winced as it seared her skin, expression turning into a sickly smile. It hurt so good. As she let the steaming water burn her,  Koizumi let her mind wander to her savior, her love, her lifeline. Junko Enoshima. Specifically, the conversation they had earlier.

"Dearest Mahiru," The girl had said. Koizumi had been thrilled, Enoshima had wanted to talk to her specifically! "I need to talk to you about something."

"Of course, Junko-chan. Anything for you." Koizumi remembered saying.

"Yes, yes." The fashionista had patted her head. "Here's the thing. I'm going on a super special mission with my dearest sister." Koizumi had felt that familiar feeling of despair clutching her chest. Already her small shred of hope that Enoshima had wanted her to come along for something had been dashed. "And here's the thing. I'm leaving you, and everyone else, behind. And I might not be coming back."

"B-But Junko!" Koizumi cried out.

"Oh hush." Enoshima shushed her. "It's not that bad. Just think of the despair you'll feel if I don't!" And Koizumi thought. "But I need you to stay alive. No killing yourself. Do you want to know why?"

"Why?" Koizumi asked.

"Because you're special." Enoshima had smiled, a smile that always made Koizumi melt. "Your talent is so much easier to spread our delicious despair with. You're one of my favorites. Did you know that? I need you."

"Y-You do?" Koizumi had blushed. Enoshima always knew what to say.

"Yes I do. You're my little photographer. No matter what anybody says otherwise, you're important. To  _me_. And isn't that all that matters?" And  Enoshima had drawn her close, run a comforting hand through her hair, and smiled at her. And how could she refuse?

"Yes it is.  _You're_ all that matters." Koizumi replied. Enoshima had smiled back and handed her a letter, instructing her to only open it if she didn't come back.

Koizumi sluggishly shook herself from the daydream and pulled herself out of the bath, wrapping a thin towel around herself. She grabbed a smaller one off of the counter and dried her hair off. Then she sat on the edge of the tub and thought for a while, staring at the hair curler. How easy... With a sigh, Koizumi finished drying herself off. After slipping her dirty clothes back on, Koizumi grabbed her camera with one hand and the pistol next to the hair curler with the other. She strode out of the bathroom, flicking off the safety on the hand gun.


	3. A Fight to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next is Nekomaru Nidai. Warnings for murder and a bit of gore.

" _I will make trophies of their spines!_ " Nekomaru Nidai cried out, pumping his fist into the air. The legion of super high school level athletes, armed with sports supplies and training from the Super High School Level Coach himself, raised their weapons – be they bats, balls or fists – and yelled their battle cry in response. "We may die! We may not! But does that matter?!"

"No!" The ragtag army replied.

"Why?!" Nidai screamed.

"We fight for despair!" They hollered back.

"That's right! Just the fact that we're fighting means that despair is spreading! Just like Enoshima Junko wants! We're the best of the best! They think their weapons and age and experience can stop us! They're wrong! We have weapons!" The group responded by smashing their hockey sticks and baseball bats and other sports paraphernalia on the ground. "We have experience!" Others waved around bloodied helmets and stomped soiled cleats. "And most importantly!" Nidai clenched his fist. "We have despair!"

"Hoorah!" The crowd responded in kind by hooting, hollering, screaming, and generally creating a racket. Nidai jumped off of his stage, a shed on the Hope's Peak Academy's sports grounds, and landed on a corpse with a sickening crunch. This only fueled on the other students, who wailed and screeched like a pack of wild animals, slamming their makeshift weapons on the ground to a nonexistent beat. Nidai led the march, the troop of students behind him still roaring in excitement. However, it began to die down when they neared the front of the school.

"Come out with your hands up! There's no escape!" The police shouted orders to the kids. Some had already surrendered. Or so the officers had thought.

"Now!" Nidai's voice thundered out. The police men leveled their guns. Before they could get any shots off, there was the twang of arrows and the bang of rifles. Three of the police at the front fell flat, arrows sticking out of the backs of their heads while a few others in the middle of the crowd dropped dead. As the line turned around, Nidai roared. The ragtag army roared with him and charged just as two of the police cruisers detonated, the makeshift explosives held by despairing students within causing what remained of the vehicles to spew flames and metal everywhere. The opposing forces collided and Nidai grabbed one of the policemen at the front, holding him by the throat. They stared at each other for a few moments, even as the sudden battle raged around them. Nidai saw the man slowly going for his gun out of the corner of his eye. He grinned, letting the man's fingers graze the handle before throwing him to the ground and stomping his head in. This was a fight to remember. And he would get some mighty fine trophies out of it.


	4. Implements of Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kazuichi Souda's chapter, with warnings for murder and spoilers for DR.

Kazuichi Souda couldn't believe it. He never thought... and yet he did. In a fit of despair, he had... built those things. One of which just got used. Against someone he had once considered a friend. Souda had watched on the television as Leon Kuwata was strapped to a pole and killed, baseballs pelting his body at terminal velocity until he was but a step away from pulp. Now normally, such a thing wouldn't be possible from an automatic pitcher. But that wasn't a normal automatic pitcher. No, it was special built, custom made for one Junko Enoshima. Custom made by him.

“What have I done?” Souda muttered to himself, staring at his hands. Hands that built a machine that killed someone. Perhaps... before. Before. Maybe before, that wasn't true despair. Because before... it hadn't felt like this. Before, it had a bit of light to it. That perhaps, maybe if he did this, maybe if he did that. Maybe if had done those things, the this and the that, then maybe he wouldn't feel bad anymore. But this. This was different.

“God damn.” Souda looked back up at the television. Monobear was laughing at the startled, enraged, and scared faces of the twelve students. Did they feel the same way he did? No, there was no way. Sure, they had watched their friend die, but he had caused it. This despair was different. It was like someone had his soul by the throat, giving it just enough oxygen so that it could keep going. It felt like... nothing he could ever do would make up for it. That it would never end. Would he... always feel like this? Like he was caught in a vice grip with the life slowly bleeding out of him. He'd have to think about it. Souda got up from his chair, kicked the television off of its stand, and started stomping on it. His despair made him angry. Why was he so weak? Why did he do that? Why did he give in and build that damn thing? He kicked the screen in, stomped on the frame, ripped wires. After a few moments of blind rage, Souda stopped assaulting the TV. Its battered corpse lay on the ground. The mechanic glanced at the blood on his hands, bubbling up from cuts made by the glass. His blood. Or was it Leon's? Souda stared at it in disgust.

“Stupid. Too weak to avoid a beating. You deserved it. You deserved it because you couldn't stop it.” Souda spit on the television and stomped towards the door. Who was he talking to? Leon? The TV? Himself? Souda scowled. Whatever. It didn't matter. What mattered now was despair. And now, now that he knew despair and only despair, he decided that he had things to do. Souda opened the door and tromped into the hallway. _Looking grim, he let the door swing shut behind him._


	5. False Showstopper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ibuki Mioda's chapter, no real warnings aside from general things.

" _The poor girl's crazy._ " Words that Ibuki Mioda had heard on almost a daily basis. Those words or variations of them. Everybody thought there was something wrong with her. For breaking up with her band. For making music she liked. For her clothes, her act, her voice. Nobody took Midoa seriously. But she took it in stride. Like a good girl. Because she's a good girl, right? Not according to other people apparently. To other people, Mioda's a rebel, a bad role model, a lunatic. But Mioda never considered herself any of those. She was just someone who wanted to be happy and spread her happiness through music. But according to others, that was wrong too. Nothing was right with Ibuki Mioda. So Mioda lived her life thinking she was always wrong for being happy. She believed it.

Then one day, someone told her she wasn't wrong. A girl, with so much beauty that Mioda was stunned, bewildered someone so beautiful could exist, told her that she was  _right_.  Mioda had attempted a feeble argument, she was so used to doing things that she perceived as wrong. But this girl had said 'no, Mioda, you're perfect just the way you are'. Mioda was stunned. She wasn't wrong? And then the girl had done something nobody had ever done before. She asked Mioda to sing for her. And when Mioda began to sing like she used to, the girl stopped her and said, 'no.  _Sing_  for me.' Mioda looked at the girl strangely, and the girl just said 'like you want to'. And Mioda understood. She sung the girl a song. A real song. Not one of the songs people had told her were 'right', but a song that she knew was right. And sure, people stared. But when they saw the girl listening pleasantly to Mioda's music, a few stopped staring, while others continued, but in the form of listening as well. That was the day Mioda learned the power of Junko Enoshima.

These days, well, Mioda just liked to play music. In the fashonista's honor of course. Mioda chuckled, tuning her guitar in her dressing room, prepping for a show. So very honorable. She gently strummed the instrument, letting it purr into her ear. The light music club member frowned, glancing at her guitar and strumming it again.

"Who's been touching you, sweetie?" Mioda muttered to the guitar, taking one of the pegs in between her fingers and gingerly twisting it. It was too sharp. Somebody had messed with it. And that... well that just wouldn't do. After a few minutes, Mioda got the guitar back to its proper state. She was unhappy that someone had touched it, however. She'd look into it after the show. Or not. With the guitar resting in her lap, Mioda swiveled her chair to look in the mirror near her desk. She looked over the bags under her eyes, along with the rest of her general state of disrepair. Comes with being a musician, she guessed. The door to the room gingerly swung open and a nervous girl with frazzled brown hair, probably the attendant assigned to her room, peeked her head in.

"U-Um... miss Mioda? Y-you're on in five." The girl stuttered out.

"Yes, yes, great." Mioda plucked a string and slowly turned to the girl. "Did you touch my guitar?" The attendant went red in the face, gesturing wildly before launching into a rant.

"O-Oh um... well you see... Th-the cleaning staff were in here and I m-moved it s-so they wouldn't mess it up, y-you know... I w-wasn't sure i-if they were going to be careful with it a-and I tried my best to not do a-anything too terrible to it, but I-" The girl sputtered. Mioda frowned, which just caused the girl more anxiety. "I-I'm sorry ma'am! I... I just didn't w-want to do anything wrong a-again! I-... I just..." Mioda cocked her head, her hand stopping just as her fingers graced the combat knife strapped to the bottom of the desk. She reclined in her seat, letting her fingers scrape the handle of the knife, and sighed "M-ma'am?"

"Don't let it happen again."

"Y-Yes ma'am!" The girl scurried away, the door shutting behind her. Mioda sighed. Was she getting too soft? The musician glanced at the clock. Show in two. She stood up and strummed out a chord, thinking of the rigged speakers all over the concert hall. Time for a showstopper. Literally.


	6. Where It Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikan Tsumiki's chapter, warnings for the general violence stuff, some gorey stuff (basically talk about infection and body fluids) and also some sexual undertones?

"Tell me where it hurts." Mikan Tsumiki crooned, tending to the writhing student under her 'care'. He just kept moving around. "Oh come now.  _If you don't stop shaking, you'll only make it worse._ " With a shudder, the boy, a 'Super High School Level Public Speaker' she believed he was, managed to stop himself from moving too much, only giving the occasional twitch of pain.

"Gah... I-It's my fucking arm... One of those despair kids had some sort of poison or something. I don't know. All I know is that it fucking hurts." He grimaced in pain, his arm spasming.

"Oh you poor thing... I'm a nurse, let me check it." Tsumiki purred, rooting through a bag she had with her. Scalpels, syringes, bonesaws. Anything a self-respecting doctor would have on them. Oh, but she wasn't a doctor. Or self-respecting. Or sane. But he didn't have to know that. She moved the boy's hand from his arm, inspecting his wound. It wasn't much, a pretty shallow cut, but it was already turning all sorts of weird colors. Tsumiki giggled. "Seems serious. But you'll be fine. After I operate."

"Hey, hold on. What are you ta-" The boy protests, but shouts out in pain as Tsumiki stabs him in the arm with a syringe full of anesthesia. "The hell is your pro- augh!" He flinches as she roughly jabs the plunger down, injecting him with the cocktail of drugs. The effect was immediate and clear, the boy's eyes fogging up and his movements slowing. "What... the hell... was that?..."

"Nothing much~" Tsumiki muttered in a sing-song voice, reaching into her medical bag and pulling out a scalpel. "Just a little something to keep the pain away while I operate."

"Ghh..." The boy muttered, clearly fighting the drug he was injected with. "No... fuck the operation... let me... eugh... go..."

"Sorry, I'd love to study the effects of the poison has on functioning people, but Junko wouldn't like one of the leaders of the resistance getting away alive..." Tsumiki just smiled, her expression one of content and placidity. "So... I think I'll just have to make do..." Even in his drugged up haze, the boy recognized the name Tsumiki uttered, his eyes widening as much as his slowly deactivating body would let them.

"You're... one of 'em... You... you fucking disgusting... monster." He made a gargling sound and spat a wad of phlegm at her. It hit her cheek with a wet 'splap'. The nurse slowly brought a hand to her face, wiping off the loogey he spat at her. "Get... away..."

"Oh my. You've got very thin snot. That's not healthy." Tsumiki raised her brow at him, stabbing the scalpel into his arm and leaving it there. He cried out and clenched his eyes shut. "You know... once, way back when, I might have let you go for spitting on me. I would have done anything to please anyone. But now... ehehehe..." Tsumiki punctuated her laughter with more scalpels, stabbing two more into his chest and one into his leg. The boy just cringed in pain. "Now I love it. Go ahead. Spit on me again. Please." Her face went red like Christmas lights just thinking about it. "Mmn... to feel your unwanted saliva splattering on my worthless skin... ooh..." Tsumiki sighed, riled up, and grabbed one of the scalpels. With a quick and forceful tug, she sliced a deep gash in his wounded arm. The boy just gasped. Pus, blood, and other discharge began flowing out of the wound on his arm, the poison already destroying his body. "Maybe then you'd... I don't know... hit me a bit? Kick me? A-aha..." She took the scalpel and stabbed his hand, taking another and slicing open his leg. "Perhaps you'd even... ehehe... call me dirty things... l-like 'slut' or 'whore'... yeah..." Tsumiki bit her lip, cutting the boy's chest open.

"You're fucking... sick..." The boy, woozy from blood loss and the drugs, finally passed out.

"Oh, I know." Tsumiki cooed, reaching for her bonesaw. Time for some 'fun'. "I know."


	7. Writ of the Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gundam Tanaka's chapter. Slight warnings for violence/murder stuff. Also mentions of religious stuff, if that bothers you.

“ _The Devil can cite scripture for his purpose!_   If such a lowly being can, then so can I!” Gundam Tanaka hollered out from on top of a car, animals and people swarming in a chaotic rage on the street. “But the scripture I cite is not your human trash from any of your false religions! God and the Devil, Heaven and Hell. They are but constructs, weak obstacles through which I, Gundam Tanaka, will smash through and provide a new era upon which the world will partake in! Listen to my sermon and be enlightened in your final hours! For this is an unholy homily on the joys of despair!” Tanaka laughed, crossing his arms, watching as a gray wolf and a german shepherd mauled a man to death. Cousins joining together against a common enemy. A glorious sight.

“Tell me fools! Who was it that subjugated the gentle creatures of this earth for their own nefarious deeds? Was it the sirens of the oceans?! Or perhaps the sasquatch of the forests?! No! It was humans! You! You took animals for your own good! Breaking species over your knees for nothing but your benefit! But now they are dissatisfied! Those that you have enslaved are rebelling against their captors with the help of me! Now you are doomed to the Underworld! And it will be _I_   that take you there, smoking a cigar as you limp, bound in chains, into the brimstone and rot of your eternal suffering!” Tanaka shouted, a herd of cows and bulls charging down the street and bowling over a group of people with makeshift weapons that had charged at the animal breeder. Chickens, turkeys, and ducks flew down, pecking and ripping at the shattered vigilantes on the ground.

“Are you satisfied now?! Do you feel regret?! That crushing feeling of despair?! It is one in which you cannot breath through your own miasma of self-hatred and loathing! Where you are choked up by your failures, knowing nothing will redeem your pathetic excuses for souls! Your wretched souls! Are you happy your doom has arrived?! Were you prepared for this day?! No! Because you fools are all too focused on your day to day tomfoolery, always forgetting to make amends and enjoy things because 'there's always tomorrow'. Ha! There is no more tomorrow for any living being! Not ever again! For Despair has taken over! Tomorrow is a thing of the past! All that remains are your vile thoughts and the outcomes of your misdeeds! So enjoy your suffering, for it shall never end!” Tanaka whipped out a revolver from a holster in his coat, deftly shooting another attempted 'hero' in the head. The animal breeder scoffed at the person's corpse.

“No longer shall you fools destroy the bountiful gifts given to you! Freedom?” With a caw, an eagle swooped from the sky, raking the face of yet another person, causing them to stumble to the ground. Tanaka quickly dispatched them. “No longer will it be wasted! Companionship?” A woman stumbled back as a house cat landed on her face, clawing at her. As soon as she threw it away, a lioness pounced, ripping the woman's throat out in a spray of gore. “No one shall discard it anymore! Prosperity?” Someone shrieked as snakes, constrictors, coiled around her limbs, dragging her to the ground as a cobra reared its head before striking her with a bite to the jugular. “You vain fools have tossed it aside. I am revolted by your flippant dismissal of anything not involving you! Observe what you are in because of it! Was it worth it, you ignoramuses?!” One person burst through the chaos, charging at Tanaka. He just chuckled, snapping his fingers. A horse galloped out of an alleyway, a bloodstained boy with a machete in his hand and a gas mask on his face on the animal's back. The person turned, and quickly found themself without a head. Tanaka hopped off the car, striding confidently through the din of animals and people fighting. He stooped down, grabbing the lopped off head and carrying it back to the car.

“You'll all be my servants when this is over. Should you find yourselves alive!” He let out a cackle, taking the head and impaling it on the car's antenna. Surprisingly, the antenna stayed upright, the head remaining suspended on it, staring out at the crowd. “Take this, a lord of demise, as a testament to the weakness of the human race and the failures of each and every one of you pitiless fools! You belong to Gundam Tanaka now! And to his one and only master! Despair!” And he laughed.

 


	8. Tools and Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peko Pekoyama's chapter, no extra warnings aside from the normal and a slight bit of gore.

It was a battlefield. Maybe battlefield was too generous of a word, Peko Pekoyama thought. Perhaps the proper term for it was a slaughterhouse. Or slaughterfield, all things considered. Corpses littered the grassy knoll ahead of her, the smell of sulfur and blood filling the air. If she focused hard enough, Pekoyama could even smell the beginnings of death, the disgusting odor of rot and decaying tissue. It had become a rather comforting smell. It was familiar.

The swordswoman sat in a tree, gingerly cleaning the blade of her katana with a white cloth. The piece of fabric grew a darker red with each stroke, her weapon shining brighter at the same rate. As if it had never been bloodied at all. But the blade doesn't forget. It may be cleaned to look new, but it would remember how to slice skin, sever tendons, cut bone. Just as she had. She and her sword, they were a lot alike. They both existed to serve a means. Although Pekoyama might dare to say that she was more versatile than her sword. She could do more than kill.

"Haha." She chuckled, scrubbing off a particularly stubborn stain. A joke. Well... it wasn't meant to be. And yet, it ended up being one. What good was she, if not for killing? Exactly. Nothing. But another thing that set her apart from her sword was that she had changed masters. Perhaps that means that, by extension, so has her blade, but Pekoyama doesn't think so. Pekoyama had always wielded her sword. But her current master had not always wielded her. Recently, although he may not have realized it, the Young Master had turned her reins over to the woman known as Junko Enoshima. Not literally of course. Pekoyama didn't have actual reins. But she took orders from Enoshima, and more orders from Enoshima. Although a good majority of them came from the Young Master himself, she could see through the gangster. It wasn't  _him_  ordering her to do these things. She could clearly see that he was getting her to do things for Enoshima that he didn't have time to do, that his desire to please her sent the both of them on missions aplenty. It was a shame, really, how well she knew him. How easy it was for her to see right through him like that. It would be easy, no, effortless, to do away with him. And although she wouldn't say it out loud, Pekoyama would do it in a heartbeat if Enoshima ordered her to. Not that she would tell the Young Master that. Or herself.

"Hey. Pekoyama. Get down from there. We're leaving. We got what we came for." Pekoyama glanced down, finding one of the other people she came here with. She's surprised he's still alive, there are at least five openings in his stance she could exploit. In fact...

"Alright." She dropped out of the tree, landing silently in the grass. The boy crossed his arms.

"Let's hurry this up." He hefted the sack, presumably full of 'what they came for'. Pekoyama looked over the rolling fields and counted the corpses, loosing track at two hundred and seven. "Uh... hello?"

" _I wonder if they all have names_..." Pekoyama asked out loud, twirling her sword.

"Who cares?" The boy rolled his eyes.

"I do." Pekoyama watched out of the corner of her eye as the boy turned away. "But at least there's a bright side." Her lips twitched up into a grin.

"Yeah? What's that?" The boy stopped and glanced back at her. Faster than he could track, Pekoyama slashed. The boy choked, hands flying to his throat and bag clattering to the ground. Blood spurted between his clenched fingers. He gurgled, looking up at her pathetically, with a horrible smile growing on his face.

"You fit in with them." She drove the sword through his head and watched as his eyes rolled back. The swordswoman watched him fall, then grabbed the bag and her sword and walked away.


End file.
